


Baby, we're already saved

by lanyon



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1435663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has no idea how to ask Captain America if he’s in love with his sidekick. </p><p> </p><p>  <b>Contains SPOILERS for <i>Captain America: The Winter Soldier</i></b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, we're already saved

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IttyBittyManatee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IttyBittyManatee/gifts).



> +Title from _Saved_ by the Prayer Boat  
>  +For Marie, for being the first person I got to squeal with about the movie. ♥

Reilly was a great wingman. He didn’t give a shit that Sam was at least as much into guys as girls. There was that time they were on furlough in Paris and Reilly gamely tagged along to a gay bar.

“You got game, Wilson,” he said, arm slung around Sam’s shoulders, as they stumbled out of the bar and down the narrow street. The hill seemed so much steeper on the way down.

“I got more game when I ain’t dragging your ass back to base,” said Sam. He didn’t really care. Everyone in the bar had known that he was in love with Reilly. 

Reilly was a great wingman but he never knew that.

.

“Who’s this guy?” asks Tony Stark. 

“Sam Wilson,” says Steve. He looks long-suffering and they’ve only been in Manhattan for five minutes. “Falcon.”

“Oh,” says Stark. “I think I prefer Hawkeye.”

“That’s okay, man,” says Sam. “I prefer War Machine.”

“Can you do anything with these?” asks Steve, gesturing at the specs.

“Straight to the point, Cap? No small talk? No, hi, how’re you doing, sorry about your house being blown up on national television?” Stark picks up the blueprints. “Ooh.” He looks at Sam, expression suddenly shrewd. “You sure you don’t wanna suit instead? I’m having a fire sale.”

“Just the wings, man,” says Sam. 

“Sure thing,” says Stark, wandering off down a corridor. “Oh, hey, buddy. I didn’t mean it about Hawkeye. He never lets me build him things.”

“‘s cool,” says Sam. “War Machine’s still my favourite, though.”

.

“So,” he says. “Bucky-”

“My best friend,” says Steve. “Yeah.”

Sam doesn’t know how often they’ve had this conversation over the past six months. For a guy with a metal arm and no concept of minimising collateral damage, the Winter Soldier has been surprisingly hard to track down. 

“Yeah, I got that but - you know. The longer we go without him finding himself, the less chance there’s gonna be of us finding him.”

Steve’s brow creases. 

Sam tries to speak softly. “If he wants to stay lost, Steve, there’s not much we can do.” 

“Reilly-”

“My wingman,” says Sam. “Yeah.”

.

“We met once before, you know.”

“Really?” asks Stark. “Wait, was it July Fourth, ninety-four?”

“How old do you think I _am_? No, man. Afghanistan. I was one of the pararescues-”

“Oh,” says Stark and a surprising number of emotions cross his face. “No wings then, though.”

.

Sam has no idea how to ask Captain America if he’s in love with his sidekick. 

.

He remembers the first time he and Reilly tested the wings. It was exhilarating. It was in Nevada and they laughed and said Area 51 never had it so good.

“You know when you dream you’re flying?” asked Reilly. “And you never wanna come down?”

Sam looked at him, and looked, and nodded.

The wind was warm and dry and they swooped like birds, racing low over the sand, and even their hard-ass CO was laughing. They were like children who had to be called inside by their parents. 

Honestly? Sam could have stayed up there for ever, that first day. 

 

.

“What’s it like?” asks Steve. 

They’re lying on the flat roof of the Avengers Tower, repurposed and intact, and staring up at the near-cloudless sky. A single wayward pigeon flutters past, fat from the food-carts and garbage cans in Manhattan. 

“Like nothing else,” says Sam. He turns on his side and looks at Steve. “Times, I never want to come down.”

Steve smiles and turns his head and his eyes are blue, like the near-cloudless sky. 

“Obviously, it’s best when people aren’t shooting at me.”

“Obviously,” says Steve.

“I’ll take you up some time. Stark’s designing something pretty neat.”

“I promise I’ll skip breakfast when you do.”

Sam laughs and, for some reason, Steve smiles even wider. 

_You can stuff your face with pancakes, see if I care_ , Sam thinks, and he’d carry him anywhere.

.

There’s a sighting in Brooklyn, in a cemetery but the trail is cold by the time they get there. 

There’s a sighting in D.C. and in New Jersey. There’s a sighting in London, in St Petersburg, in Madrid, in Arkhangelsk.

Steve never flags. 

(Neither does Sam.)

.

They’re in Moscow and Sam’s squinting at the McDonald’s in Red Square because, seriously?

“Say, Cap?” he asks.

“Yeah?”

“You in love with your former sidekick?” Funny how easily it comes out, in the end. 

Funny how Steve just quirks an amused grin.

“Seriously? You’re asking me that _here_ , of all places?” 

Sam snorts. 

.

“Well?” he asks, a few days later. They’re in Paris and he wonders if the bar is still there. He wonders if he were to walk in with Steve, would everyone know that he’s in love with him.

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know. I never had the chance to, you know-” He gestures in a way that’s probably meant to encompass all manner of deeds and misdeeds. “And Bucky was -” He smiles, crooked again. “He was everything so I wasn’t gonna risk it. It wasn’t the done thing.”

Sam laughs. “And me?” He leans in a little closer. “Let me tell you, buddy. I’m a done thing.”

Steve blushes. 

.

Kissing Steve is good. It’s really good. The guy knows what he’s doing and Sam’s not going to question where ninety-something year-old supersoldiers learned how to do that with their tongues but maybe the Great Depression was falsely advertised. 

Fucking Steve is really good too. He’s pliant, like he doesn’t want to assume anything, and he rips through sheets with clenched fingers when Sam goes down on him. He’s embarrassed, the first time, till Sam tells him it’s hot. 

“Why me?” Sam asks. His head is on Steve’s chest and it’s pretty chastening when the guy you’ve just nailed into the mattress has barely broken a sweat, though Steve assures Sam it’s good for him ( _so_ good, Sam, yes - yes-).

“I guess.” Steve’s fingers settle in Sam’s hair. “I guess I was always looking for the right partner and, you know, someone with -” He gestures with his free hand. “Shared life experiences.”

“Yeah, peas in a pod, that’s us,” says Sam and Steve chuckles, breathlessly (so maybe Sam has had an effect).

“No, I mean-”

“I hear you,” says Sam. “Those who take down Helicarriers together, stay together.” He waits a beat. “And this bed is murder on your back, right?”

“Right,” says Steve. “Can we move to the couch?”

Sam’s couch is bumpy in all the wrong places and it’s no rocky terrain. The arm digs into his back and Steve’s elbow digs into his ribs and it feels more comfortable than all the hotel beds in Paris. 

.

“We’ll find him,” says Sam. 

“New-found optimism?” asks Steve, licking syrup from his fingers. Sam tears his gaze away.

“I got a whole new outlook,” says Sam. 

Steve leans across the table and touches his lips to Sam’s. He tastes sweet, like syrup, like over-sweetened coffee, like warm desert air. 

Sam could stay up here for ever.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Baby, we're already saved](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3202790) by [sisi_rambles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sisi_rambles/pseuds/sisi_rambles)




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